Past Tense
by S.N. Blade
Summary: Can you count the reasons you have to live? Draco Malfoy can't because he doesn't have any. PreHBP. Slash HPDM...was started forever ago but have rewritten the end all recently. New updates!
1. Prologue Part I

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I _PROLOGUE _I

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Nil. None. Naught. Zero. Zip. Zilch.

That was the number of reasons I had to live for. I had come to this conclusion after acute speculation of the remnants of my life.

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I could become an extremely powerful Death Eater that would only too obviously be one of Voldemort's finest. Oh, right, and serve a decaying hypocrite that is in extreme self-denial? Intelligent people would quickly come to the conclusion that after so many consecutive defeats that winning is out of the question. War is different, it does work that way, but when it comes to dueling all troops are combined as one and pose a different threat. As it is, that _thing_ which calls himself the Dark Lord is not worthy of my servitude, as is no one but myself.

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I have no friends that would miss me; I smirk just thinking about it. Crabbe and Goyle are not friends, they are more akin to having flies as pets. Firstly, they reek like no other; I've smelt decaying bodies that make it seem like a perfumery compared to those imbeciles. They buzz all about me, which is no fault of my own (I imagine they have been ordered to by their thicker than rock fathers), and it is all I can do to not swat them away, literally. They will also eat just about anything you put before them. What self-respecting wizard such as myself would call those dolts friends? Everyone else I know is either an acquaintance or an enemy; as to which is worse, I haven't figured out.

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My family? Right, my father is going to be _so_ upset because a mudblood will no longer shame the family name; he just _loves_ the fact of that Gryffindor wench surpassing my marks every year. As for my mother, I'm surprised she hasn't passed me off for a figment of her imagination, what with all the booze and potions she consumes. I'm not positive that she even eats solid foods anymore.

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My marks certainly won't matter in the end and neither will quidditch. Neither are sufficient enough to sustain my life as it is. I am not by any means insufficient in either, but just because I am good at something does not necessarily mean that I should want to pursue it further in my future. Quidditch is no more than something else for me to succeed at; it is also a means of beating Gryffindor in anyway possible. With my marks, I could most certainly obtain any career; I could eventually even become the Minister of Magic. What everyone fails to conceive is that I simply do not want to. It is not a matter of _need;_ it is a matter of _want_.

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This is when I came to the conclusion that I had absolutely nothing to live for. If any of those people want me alive it is for the sole purpose of what they need from me that they cannot provide for themselves. Others must be ordered to befriend me; if any of my self acclaimed friends had the choice, they certainly would have chosen someone else. The others simply want to get in a good word with one of the wizarding world's most prominent families. The only good word I've put in for anybody got them severely injured, much to my satisfaction.

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I had nothing to live for what so ever. Take notice of the past tense. I _had_ nothing to live for. No, I haven't killed myself, but not for a lack of disregarding the option. I _had_ nothing to live for, until this very moment.

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I know that I hate life, it is something I came to terms with long ago. What I didn't know is that someone else could despise it in the same quantity. As I somehow came to lock eyes with him only seconds ago, I discovered that I wasn't alone. Now I have something to live for, for Harry Potter hates life just as much as I do.

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The end....or is it?

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Shall I continue or not? If anything, I shall only write one more chapter to complete it and that will be all. That is unless I am asked to continue it into a full-length story. My other story will be complete rubbish compared to this if I do fulfill its potential (or so I hope.) If I do continue then I am warning you that it will be slash, but as it is now it does not have to be. I have never written slash before but I want to take the chance that I'll be okay at it.

P.S. - Both characters have extreme reasons to hate life as they do; I would not allow myself to write this if I did not plan on giving them reasons. If you doubt me, you will discover why as you read if I chose to make it full-length. Until then, if it comes, please enjoy as is.

- Writer

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Disclaimer:

I do proclaim, that in shame, I own nothing of the sort.

Just the plot, you little snot, so I shall make this short.

She who owns it, and condones it, harbors all the glory.

Now to you, please review, and do enjoy my story!


	2. Prologue Part II

_**PROLOGUE:**_

_**PART II**_

Most unusual; I've just come to lock eyes with Draco Malfoy, my arch nemesis here at Hogwarts. Any previous contact has been purposefully initiated by either him or myself, less often the latter's instigation. I've known him only to look at me for these certain reasons: to scowl at my success, to smirk for his success, to gloat, to scorn, and to express his ever-evident and extreme hatred for me, the Boy-Who-Lived.

Ah, yes, the Boy-Who-Lived, a name I have recently come to despise more so than I did when I first discovered it referred to me. It is, after all, quite an appropriate and accurate description, though they all seem to shorten it; it is rather the Boy-Who-Lived-While-Others-Die. To them I am solely this boy because I did not and have not died at the hand of Voldemort or his cronies as of yet. They all seem to forget that whilst I live, others die by that exact hand, namely those within close quarters of my existence.

First my parents, sparing their lives so that I may live this tortured one. I do not blame them, for they could not know what would befall their only son. They must have had plans and dreams for me, and I resent that I cannot accomplish their wishes; I must instead fulfill this destiny and duty to battle Voldemort and destroy him or face destruction myself. My views on this matter have become extremely distorted as of late, slightly like they're being subjected to submersion; sometimes I wonder if it would just be easier for everyone if I did not exist. With that in mind, I would be in the presence of my parents once again, and that is something I have wished for all my life. It would be nice to get what_ I_ want every now and then instead of what _they_ want for me.

Cedric was next, poor lad; there is little I regret more. For once, why could I not have acted like others my age? No, I had to be a big, brave Gryffindor, always acting for the wellbeing of others. I was selfless instead of selfish, trying to share with the Hufflepuff the glory _he_ deserved yet the glory _I _had won. If only I had behaved like any normal teenager, being self-absorbed and taking the prize for my own whilst disclaiming Cedric of any glory he might have sought, then Cedric would still be alive. His family would not have gone through the grief I imposed upon them by allowing their son that pride; and even though it was short lived, I am pleased that I allowed him that much before I got him killed. Never again will I exchange someone's pride for their life because I feel the need to act as a hero. I am no hero.

Sirius, my only true father figure in this thing called my life, is gone too. I did not cast the curse that swept him behind the one-sided veil, but the blame of his death lies heavy on my heart. By doing something as easy as studying, I could have avoided the whole fiasco, and my godfather Sirius would still be by my side today, albeit in the form of a loving dog. Funny, dogs are often seen as man's best friend; he was my father's best friend and mine too, for he truly understood. In my selfishness I indirectly caused the death of a man I loved, and this is something I can never forgive myself for. My insolence has landed me in that which is so deep I shall never be capable of loosing myself from it. If not for my loathing of Snape, maybe then I would have studied that life-saving and life-guarding magic of Occlumency, and maybe then Sirius would still breathe this wintry air. See what hatred can cause you to do? One can not dwell on ifs and maybes, though. What happened did and it is no one's fault but my own, a fact hoisted on the shoulders of one too young for far too long.

Sometimes I find myself highly dumbstruck that neither Hermione nor Ron have snuffed it yet. Yes, that was quite an uncaring way to put it, but death has happened to me numerous times and I therefore have no feeling remaining towards it except guilt for causing it. I wonder, would I feel guilty for causing my own? How would I know, really, I'd be dead, now wouldn't I? Anyway, being who they are the best friends of, you would think that any true villain would target them first; after all, any family of mine that matters is already gone. To put it in cliché words, for I have no other means to do it, there is not a possible way I could save those two from me. They know what they've gotten themselves into by befriending someone like myself; and they've had more than one chance to rid of me. After all, quarrels are not scarce among the Golden Trio, especially as of late. If they're thick enough to continue to follow me blindly as many others have often done, then what can I do to deny them their ignorance? Ignorance _is_ bliss for the friends of Harry Potter.

I am no longer, nor have I been since that night, the Boy-Who-Lived. I am indisputably the Boy-Who-Killed, for the marks against me pile higher everyday. The count of witches and wizards giving and risking their lives for the hopeless cause of a sixteen year old boy is quite repulsive; and to think, they've been doing so since my return to our world at age eleven. I am consequently killing those who I've never even met before, and they're dying for a faith in one who is clueless beyond belief. Tell me, how am I supposed to defeat this 'evil'? Exactly, I've no clue either, and neither am I being instructed on ways to do so. As it is, I feel as if I'm being kept in the dark purposefully. Without training in effective ways to accomplish his defeat, exactly how am I supposed to execute this hopeless task? How am I supposed to battle Tom when I don't know how? I am extremely ignorant, and I do not like to be made to feel that way.

Yes, it is no longer Voldemort, it is Tom, as in Tom Riddle; it is also any variation of Tom that I care to utilize. The alias Voldemort is used to induce fear, but unlucky for that rat bastard, I fear nothing, not death, not pain, not loneliness; I've experienced them all in one devious form or another and I am no longer scared. I cannot say, however, that I did not once fear all of that and even more. I forget which of those old bags told me, but one of my Professors said that it was good I feared only fear. Well, I am not afraid of it, nor will I be ever again. I have discovered by fearing something you consequently cause it to happen. I feared loneliness, and now the ones I loved are being taken away one by one. Now that I no longer fear anything, I have no worries, for I know the bad things will happen regardless of my actions to albatross their development. This is also why I know that Voldemort will conquer all and is also why I am not afraid and do not feel threatened by his presence.

Actually, I do feel threatened at the moment, but not by my good buddy Tom. My ever-carefully constructed hatred is being penetrated by the eyes of the enemy and this unusual contact is what is unbalancing my ever so stable mental status. I said I am not afraid only moments ago, but I feel now that I should clarify just what I mean. I am not afraid of the major things in life, such as I listed. I do, however, find myself scared of simple things, such as the look in Malfoy's eyes at this moment. I am afraid of his gaze because I know, in some twisted fateful way, that the look in his eyes mirrors my own exactly.

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_I did not plan on having Harry's perspective of things in first person. I figured that after the prologue I would continue as a third person story. Then I realized exactly what Harry could be thinking and I decided to make the prologue two parts instead of just the one. I hope that you all like this just as much as you seemed to like the first bit. Consequently, this reassured me and I was able to write Harry's a bit more in depth._

**_Kaydera_****_ – _**_If you could have seen my writing skills of last year, you would have laughed at me and scorned me, and I would have deserved it…hahaha thanks though, I'm glad to see that you like my poems too. I have to spice my boring A/N's up a bit somehow! That thanks goes to **MagickBeing** and **LPFreak **as well! **sylvergryffin**** - ** I must admit that I had never read slash until I was trying to explain it to **Doux**** Gamine** a while back. I never read it because I didn't think it would be well written. As it was, I read **Michael Serpent**'s '**Golden Snitch**' and fell in love with the idea of Harry and Draco slash if they were kept in character. Then I came across this idea one night, and it went from there. **Neila**** – **Yes, I am nuts, just ask anybody that knows me. Although my writing is rather formal, I am by no means this literate when I talk, I usually just prattle on in jibberish! **Lyla**** Hayden – **That sounds exactly like something I would say if I weren't putting it in writing! Fortunately, though, my head easily screws back on, but the blood loss and nerve splitting takes a bit to heal. **Azynfyre**** – **I hope you like Harry's side, as wrong as his reasoning might seem **Letskickitnoncon882 - ** I am glad you like my technique, although I was unaware I had one! Hahaha nonetheless, I am thankful you pointed this out. I'm not quite sure, though, what you found humorous, for usually what I find funny no one else does. Rest assured, there will be humour (and humiliation) later in the story if all goes as planned (just because I plan it doesn't mean I follow along with it!) **Doux**** Gamine – **You think you're a clever little bugger, don't you? Giving away my secret…I shall make you pay for this, my little Sturgis, for I do know where you sleep, and you have no clue except __Colorado__ when it comes to me! Muahahaha! Also, thanks to **anotherloseranthem****, MaisjetadoreSiriusNoir, Priya, **and** Moi!** for even reading this and reviewing! I am glad I have your confidence!_

_ - Writer_

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**Disclaimer:**

**I am sure, you've heard before, what I'm about to disclaim**

**I won't chance, nor dance, around the thought of blame.**

**J.K.'s**** own, and I condone, with her beautiful plots**

**Yes it's true, believe it too, these guys are all her thoughts.**

**Naught is for me, don't you see, I take no pride and glory.**

**But once again, you have sinned, if you didn't review my story!**


	3. Chapter 1

_Chapter One_

**S.N. Blade**

A simple enough question asked by an articulately raised eyebrow; simple enough when applied to a simple situation. Three letters, one-syllable, both requesting what could be a multitude of answers, of replies, of reasons, even excuses, all asked by the extension of the enemy's brow; something, for once, I cannot spare the energy to find annoying. This interrogation could have easily been comprehended wrongly, but I know I am not mistaken. Any person who harnessed even an ounce of wit (a minority in this haphazardly conducted excuse for a school) would have known exactly what the Slytherin slime was requesting. The question in question is '_Why?_**'**

The seemingly innocent question has sent my mind into a reckless frenzy. I have an extensive list of answers, of justifiable reasons for why I resent each and every smiling… or happy, frowning…or mad, grateful…or remorseful…_any_ face that I am forced to surround myself with every goddamn day of my freakishly prolonged life. After searching my unreasonably overloaded brain, I have concluded that a single silent word can, and will, satisfy each fragment to an end. There is one way to make my enemy understand without revealing my innermost thoughts, something I cannot even bare to do as of late for my 'best friends.' Without breaching his personal space, as he has not mine without the conceding of my answer, I have merely raised my own brow, mirroring his with a darker replica. I can observe the acceptance of the parallel look for its worth, not the mocking, disrespectful gesture that most would perceive it as; and, though I loathe to admit it, I know this is because he is indeed an intelligent wizard.

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As the dark eyebrow rose, I knew what would accompany it. He did not smirk, he did not sneer, he did not mock, but the Boy-Who-Lived asked. His thoroughly thought out answer was to ask me the twin of what I had questioned him. How did I know it was well contemplated? Simple, it _was_ Harry Potter after all. His appearance might make him look as thick as Crabbe and Goyle, what with the too baggy clothes and old, worn-out threads hidden beneath his cloaks, but my enemy cannot be easily compared to any in this ruined school. I must admit that he is near equal to me, but I shall spare the arrogance for once and search for the meaning behind this façade of questioning he wears.

My search will not be a long one, for I do believe I have discovered the answer already. It is not a façade really, nor a mask, but rather a diversion, the way a real parent occupies a toddler with sweets as he or she quietly slips away the child's security item as it is too tattered to be distinguishable; or, in my case, the way Lucius occupied my younger self with tutoring and punishments while he tore away my childhood with a nasty smirk of conspiracy. When the average individual puts up a front as such, they usually intend to camouflage their emotions, an act I have not seen one student at this 'place of learning' perform successfully; which just goes to show how ignorant they are to their abilities, or lack thereof. Once again Potter must be different from the crowd and stand out; of course he can't just settle for remaining out of the spotlight for more than ten seconds. Quite an ironic thought, really, because that seems to be exactly what he has been attempting and failing miserably at for quite some time now. At the far end of his list of abnormalities, I have found the answer.

I never thought I would have found the solution in such a place, but I have. Scarface doesn't attempt to hide his emotions from anybody, he actually _wants_ people to know how he feels. Then why doesn't he? Because he's _afraid_. Imagine that, famous Harry Potter, warrior of the Light Side, scared. I almost want to smirk at the prospect of it; if only I could hold it over his head…maybe I will. Instead of telling them, he diverts their attention with that blank face revealing nothing to them whilst filing it as something he can put off until later. I am not sure if this was the way he intended me to find the answer, but this is the way that I have done it and am all the wiser for it, something I cannot complain about. I am not telling him why I hate life, he is not telling me why he hates life, but the answer comes ex post facto. To find his real answer, I must relinquish mine and vice versa, that is the understanding conclusion I know we both have come to. Ha, to think, I've come to a mutual understanding with the Gryffindor git, it simply amuses me.

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Hermione turned to Harry in hopes of engaging him in the conversation, expecting to find him talking to another Gryffindor on his own since he had not chimed into his other friends' conversation. The young witch did not expect to find him staring intently, his mind somewhere other than the world in which they lived. Forever having to be knowledgeable concerning all things, Hermione tried to follow his ethereal gaze but found to her dismay that it abruptly ended far across the Hall at something only he could see. Hesitating briefly the young witch finally argued herself into interrupting him and insisting upon his inclusion to the conversation at hand, for his opinion was always valued. He did not stir willingly, the only visible movement to her of his body caused by her own summoning touch at his shoulder. Again, she attempted, this time squeezing his shoulder, hopefully sending a message of reassurance to signify the justification in being conscious to his surroundings; he often jailed himself away from the other students and she felt it was because he feared interaction with people who revered him so. Finally, with the third encouragement, his head snapped around and stared her straight in the face, his eyes fierce and defensive unlike they had appeared moments before.

The roughness of his gaze stole her breath and, in its robbery, took her courage along with it. "Har…" She choked on his name, somehow feeling that it did not belong to the face before her. A mask of bravado that was renowned to the weaker Gryffindors crept onto her face and she began again. "Harry, might you join our conversation? I'm sure _you've_ got something to say about how the Minister is handling this." Harry frowned, his eyes narrowed as he turned away, the black mass upon his head barely moving in his swift departure from the Gryffindor table. Hermione, with an affronted look as if her intelligence had been insulted, turned to Ron for reassurance that she was not the sole witness to the abnormality.

Ron was dumbfounded as was shown by the lack of empathy in his voice as well as the stupid look upon his face. "What's gotten his pants in a twist?"

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Of course I have just _got_ to have something to say about how the Minister is handling the mess I've left behind. I _am_ the famous Harry Potter after all and most therefore be intelligently inclined to add spectacular insight into every matter that pertains to me; no one expects any less than me. What strikes me, however is, that Hermione has shamelessly fallen into stride with _them._ First she approached me as if I were as fragile minded as the prisoners in Azkaban whom have earned themselves a life sentence and have not yet passed on. You would think that when I did not respond to that sort of treatment that she would either persist (she _is_ Hermione Granger after all) or that she would give me space until I was ready to talk about it. Instead of giving me space, she began to treat me as if I have not been her friend since first year, as if we do not have a shared history. What's more is that Ron went right along with her. He cannot seem to stand on his own in any matter unless he feels that one of his friends has wronged him; then it is no bars held. What a loyal friend, no? One that will turn his back the instant he feels wronged even though it matters not in the grander scheme of things? Certainly I can understand being upset, but really, he acts so very childish that I can no longer decide if I will lower myself to that standard anymore. I will protect, no doubt, for was that not why I survived Voldemort's death curse? That does not mean, however, that I will remain close with those that simply disgust me these days.

Why is it that I can feel eyes on me even when I am doing something that most others do without gaining as much attention? Surely I have been at this school long enough with the other students that they should no longer be in awe of 'the great Harry Potter'. Also, none of them knew that Sirius was my godfather, so they cannot profess to feel for me. Humph, as if _anyone_ could 'feel for me'; none of them have experienced half of what I have. Even so, why are they watching me leave the Great Hall? Can I not leave in peace? I did not make a spectacle when I left, I am not leaving under suspicious activities, I am just leaving for Merlin's sake! I'm finished with breakfast and I just want to be alone before class! Is that so much to ask?

Actually, I've just lied in two instances. I didn't actually eat anything therefore I could not be finished with something I did not begin. Secondly, I'm not leaving to be alone, I am leaving to get away from insufferable ignorance and from those that irk me so very much that I simply want to listen to Mermaids above water for the rest of my life. An exaggeration, I know, but it gets the point across as to how much I would endure to escape this unusual form of torture. Now that I'm out of their presense, I do not know what to do with myself. As of late I have found myself in odd places without remembering the journey there, even though I am aware that I was conscious during said journey. I do believe I will allow myself that escape from reality to follow where my feet will lead me. It sounds rather pleasant.

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_I'm back!!! I feel terrible for leaving this story for so long, especially now that HBP is out and this does not conform to it. Even so, I plan on continuing the story along these lines so you'll have to deal. I am also sorry for postponing the rest of the tale for nearly two years. I have only just now found my muse again. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!_

_Replies will be made via messaging as is now current practice on the website. If you review anonymously then I will reply to it via my A/N's._

**I do believe it is disclaiming time**

**As in usual fashion, I shall use a rhyme**

**To let you know that I have no rights**

**To write about these characters' plights**

**To J.K. Rowling they do belong**

**And now I must say 'So long!'**

**But before you go, I ask you please**

**To review the latest, chapter three!**

**(it's actually chapter one but after two prologues…you get the drift)**


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